


Paris

by luluren



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, On leave, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:26:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluren/pseuds/luluren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hitch a ride to Paris together, and a budding friendship morphs into something Babe never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris

They hitch a ride together because they’re standing at the edge of base at the same time. Babe knows him, talked to him a few times but never really had a conversation with the man other than the normal “You ok?” and “Yeah, Doc, I’m fine.”

Most of the way they’re silent, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Babe’s no idea why Roe is quiet but Babe’s silent because he’s got visions of Paris floating around his head. He hasn’t been yet but he’s heard stories.

Oh yes. Paris.

The city is just up ahead and Babe decides he’s tired of the silence. Turning in his seat where they’re sitting in the back of the jeep, he knocks Roe’s knee with his own. 

“Doc.”

The man smiles at him, a movement that really only lifts one half of his mouth. It’s hard to get a read on him when he looks at Babe like that. “Heffron.”

“You been to Paris before?” Babe asks. 

Roe shakes his head.

“What are you gonna do first?”

“I dunno.” Roe lights another cigarette before speaking again. “Take in the sights I guess.”

“I know what I’m gonna do,” Babe says as he props his foot up, fingers tapping on his knee. “Find a drink. A really big one.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Roe replies, laughing softly. “But you might want to think about finding a hotel room before they’re all gone.”

“Yeah,” Babe agrees. “Hotel, then a drink.”

“A big one,” Roe says.

The jeep stops at an alleyway near the river and they get out. Babe tugs nervously at his jacket – it’s been a long time since he’s been on his own. Bill hadn’t been granted a pass and for a very brief moment Babe considered passing his up, but fuck, it’s Paris. And he hasn’t been off the base since Holland. He steals a glance over at Roe, but the man’s already looking at him with a wry grin.

“Hotel first, yeah?” Roe says.

Feeling more than a little grateful, Babe nods and they make their way down the crowded street, getting lost amongst the crowd.

\--------------------------------------------------

Finding a hotel was the number one priority but then they found a bar. One quick drink, Babe said, just one quick drink and then they’d find a hotel.

One quick drink turns into at least half a dozen and suddenly it’s nighttime and they’re both more than a little tipsy.

“We should find a room,” Roe says while they stand on the sidewalk. He’s swaying slightly and Babe would help but he can’t really see straight.

“Yeah.” Babe leans against Roe’s shoulder, needing something to steady him because Jesus he’s drunk. Roe leans back against him and they’re looking at each other, amusement prevalent in Roe’s eyes. They start laughing, giggling like a couple of school girls and it’s a few minutes before they can even walk straight enough to make it down the street.

“Jesus,” Babe says, grabbing onto Roe’s elbow for balance, “a few beers and it’s like I’m fifteen again.”

“Tolerance ain’t what it used to be,” Roe replies. He stops at a building and gestures for Babe to head inside.

“You sure this is a hotel?”

“The sign says it is.”

Babe cranes his neck to look at the sign and snickers. “It’s in French.”

“We are in Paris,” Roe says with a hint of sarcasm. 

“I’d be fucked without you, Doc.”

Babe stands awkwardly next to Roe while he jabbers at the desk clerk, who’s shaking his head every few seconds. He can only assume they’re sold out.

“What’s goin’ on? They full?” Babe asks, interrupting the conversation.

“They got one room,” Roe says. He leans against the desk, ignoring the clerk. “So we can take it, or find somethin’ else.”

It only takes a second for Babe to decide because really, another drink is much more important. “Let’s take it. We can always find another place in the morning.”

Roe turns back to the clerk and prattles on again. They pool their money together and a few minutes later Roe’s got keys in his hand and they head up a set of steep stairs that leads to the floors above.

The room is small, with just a double bed, a nightstand and a desk with a chair. It’s got a window though, that looks out on the street and Babe stares through the glass and watches the crowds that still litter the sidewalk despite the late hour. Lotta soldiers. More soldiers than civilians.

“What do you see?” Roe asks, coming to stand beside him and peering out.

“Too many damn soldiers.”

Roe snorts and takes a seat on the bed. “What do you want to do now?” he asks, rubbing his face with his hand, tired lines around his eyes and mouth.

“You still drunk?” Babe asks, turning from the window.

“Not really.”

“We need to fix that. C’mon.”

Roe groans, but gets up off the bed. “You’re gonna make me walk down all those stairs again?”

“It’ll be worth it,” Babe says, turning and walking backwards down the hallway. “Just think of how much fun it’ll be comin’ back up.”

“Lucky if we don’t break a leg, huh?” Roe replies. He pushes past Babe with a grin and starts down the stairs.

“So you’re a medic. You’ll fix it.”

“Might be too drunk to fix anything.”

“I’ll help,” Babe offers, grinning over at Roe, who gives him a skeptical look before bursting into a low laugh that seems to rumble out of his chest.

“Christ, you’ll just fuck it up even more,” Roe says. 

“Hey, fuck you, Roe.” He’s kidding because Roe is right – he’d probably end up killing them both.

They step out onto the sidewalk, almost running into a group of people walking past. Roe grabs Babe’s elbow and pulls him back, and they start laughing again.

“Where to?” Roe asks, lighting a cigarette.

“Same place ok? I don’t feel like trying to find another bar.”

“Lead on, Heffron,” Roe says, giving him a push. “Feel a hangover startin’ already.”

\--------------------------------------------------

It’s past midnight, shadows turning the streets into mazes, and Babe and Roe stumble up to their room, giggling and speaking slurred nonsense.

They tumble into bed, not even bothering to remove their shoes. Babe’s still laughing softly and when he looks over at Roe, he watches his face in the moonlight and marvels over how young Doc looks when he’s relaxed.

“I had fun tonight,” Babe murmurs.

Roe turns and smiles that half-smile he likes to give. “Me too, Heffron.”

\--------------------------------------------------

“So what d’you want to do today?” Roe asks.

It’s ten in the morning and they’re sitting, or rather slumped over, at a table in front of a café. Babe doesn’t want to ask Roe to lower his voice because then he’ll know just how incredibly hung-over Babe is. Glancing over at the other man’s pale face, Babe figures Roe might be just as bad off as Babe is.

“Dunno,” Babe mumbles, sipping at his coffee. It’s hot and smooth and he’s convinced it’s the best coffee he’s ever had. Being half sick has nothing to do with it, he’s sure of it. “You’re more familiar with Paris so you decide.”

“Why do you think that?” Roe asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“You speak their gibberish.”

Roe snorts. “Just ‘cause I speak French doesn’t mean I know anything about Paris. What sense does that make?”

“Made a lot of sense in my head,” Babe explains, tipping his tiny coffee cup up to get every last drop.

“How the hell did they let you in the airborne?” Roe asks. He’s smirking again. “Thought they only let the smart ones in.”

“Hey! I’m smart!” Babe says, feeling just a little wounded. “Or at least someone higher up thought I was.”

Roe stands and claps his hand on Babe’s shoulder. “Well, keep your mouth shut, I guess. No one’ll know the difference.”

“Shuddup,” Babe says good-naturedly. He stands and follows Roe down the crowded street, trying to ignore the slight headache pounding behind his eyes. “Where to then?”

“Let’s just walk. If we see somethin’ we want to do, we’ll stop and do it,” Roe suggests. He pulls his hat further down over his eyes but still keeps it cocked at an angle. For some reason, Babe finds himself admiring the look, knowing that he’ll never be able to recreate it.

He doesn’t have the head for a jauntily-angled hat.

It’s nearing lunch time and they’ve walked what feels like half the city. They’ve gotten lost more than once, and Babe learns quickly that Roe has an amazing sense of direction. He’s like one of those dogs that follows scents, except he follows street signs.

They stop at a restaurant along the river for lunch and Roe insists on ordering both of their meals.

“You don’t speak French, Heffron,” he says when Babe asks why.

“But can’t I at least tell you what I want? You might order somethin’ godawful,” Babe replies, sipping at his beer.

“Have some faith.” Roe ignores him then and prattles on to the waiter for a minute before turning back to Babe with a grin. “I think you’ll like what I picked.”

“I ain’t payin’ for it if I don’t like it,” Babe threatens.

“What if you _do_ like it? You’ll pay for mine then?” Roe teases, looking at Babe over the rim of his glass.

Babe takes half a second to think about it, and nods. “Deal.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, both looking around the restaurant, watching as soldiers and citizens come and go. The smell of food makes Babe’s stomach rumble and he clears his throat to cover it up. “I’m kinda torn here, Eugene,” he admits.

Roe smirks again, tilts his head to the side. “Why’s that, Edward?”

Babe grimaces. “First, don’t call me Edward. Second-”

“Why can’t I call you Edward? You called me Eugene.”

“My name’s not Edward. It’s Babe.”

“Pretty sure your first name is Edward,” Roe argues with that damn smirk playing on his lips.

“It might be, but I don’t go by Edward. It’s Babe.”

“Maybe I don’t want to call you Babe. You look more like an Edward.”

“You’re fucking nuts,” Babe says, rolling his eyes.

“Anyway, _Edward_ ,” Eugene says, his voice teasing, “what were you gonna say?”

It takes Babe a second to pick back up on his previous train of thought. “Um… oh, I’m torn because I’m hungry which means I want the food to taste good, but then I’ll have to foot the bill. So really, it needs to taste like shit so I don’t have to get my money out. See where I’m comin’ from here?”

“I understand completely. You poor thing.”

“Aw, fuck off,” Babe says, grinning good-naturedly.

The waiter is at the table, holding two bowls of steaming soup or chowder or whatever the hell it is Doc ordered. Babe peers down into the bowl, staring at the yellow soup with green sprigs of something on top of it.

“So, you gonna tell me what the hell it is I’m eatin’?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Asshole,” Babe murmurs. He picks up his spoon and dips it into the yellow liquid, inhaling the scent of some kind of vegetables and potatoes. He refuses to look over at Eugene as he sips at it and the flavors explode across his tongue. Babe closes his eyes, savors the tastes – fuck, he’s gonna have to pay now.

“So?” Eugene prompts, his eyebrows raised.

Babe shrugs noncommittally. “Not sure yet.”

“Liar. You like it.”

“If I eat it all but tell you I hated it will you still make me pay?” Babe asks, grinning.

“Yes.” Eugene dips his spoon into the soup. 

Halfway through their meal, Babe’s reaching out for a slice of bread when he realizes he still has no idea what he’s eating. “So, what is this slop?”

“ _Vichyssoise_ soup,” Eugene answers.

Babe tries to pronounce the word but it comes out sounding all wrong. “What’s in it?”

“Leeks, potatoes and broth. My maman used to make it for me when I was younger.”

“Hmm,” Babe says, taking a bite of the flaky bread. “It’s good.”

“Told you.”

Once they’re finished and the waiter comes back, Babe, with as much groaning as he can muster, pulls his wallet out and hands Eugene a stack of francs. “You figure the money out, wise-ass.”

\--------------------------------------------------

During their afternoon ramblings, after passing what they were sure was a whore house and having an awkward conversation where they both decided they didn’t need to indulge, they find themselves at a movie theatre.

“Let’s see a movie,” Eugene says, staring up at the marquee.

“But it’s in French.” Babe responds in a tone that suggests Eugene might be an idiot.

“I’ll translate it for you. C’mon.”

They take a seat at the very back of the almost empty theatre, and for a brief second Babe imagines he’s back in Philly.

“So you’re gonna whisper all the lines to me? How you gonna pay attention to what’s goin’ on?” Babe asks, sinking down in his seat and staring at the blank screen.

“See, there’s this thing called ‘multi-tasking’ and I’m pretty good at it,” Eugene replies with a smirk.

“For someone who barely says two words when we’re on base, you’re turnin’ out to be a fucking smart-ass,” Babe mutters, bumping his shoulder against Eugene’s.

“Shh,” Eugene says as the lights start to dim. “It’s startin’.”

“Oh, is that what it means when the lights go out?” Babe whispers sarcastically as he settles further down in his seat.

“You’re a smart-ass yourself, _Edward_.”

The movie starts and Babe finds himself enjoying Eugene’s lilting voice in his ear. The film is a comedy, about a man trying to juggle two different women at the same time and failing spectacularly. They’re at the halfway point when it starts to get awkward though, because the man is professing his love for one of the women and using words like “darling” and “beautiful” and Babe feels his face start to warm.

He chances a glance over at Eugene just as the words, “I’ll love you forever, sweetheart,” leave his mouth and they stare at one another – their eyes wide and cheeks flushed and Babe’s not sure what to say.

So he opts for the smart-ass path.

“Love you too, honey,” he whispers, winking at Eugene who promptly bursts out laughing, earning them both annoyed glares from the people sitting a few rows in front of them.

They can’t stop snickering and Babe’s afraid they might get thrown out so they quietly (ha!) leave the theatre and step out into a brisk, cold, Paris evening.

“You’re fucking impossible,” Eugene says, leaning against the side of the building, wheezing through his words. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Well you’re the one declarin’ your love for me,” Babe jokes, lighting a cigarette. “Whaddya expect?”

Eugene’s still chuckling as they start down the street and Babe pointedly bumps into him, laughing as he stumbles. 

“Asshole.”

“Takes one to know one, Doc.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Babe spots another bar a few blocks away, the music from the band inside drifting down the sidewalk. The place is packed, smoke making the air hazy and Babe follows Eugene towards the bar.

It only takes a few beers for Babe to work up the courage to ask the pretty girl at the end of the bar for a dance, and he pulls her towards the floor with a grin and a drunken flourish. She’s pretty, with honey colored hair and red lips. The fact that she speaks no English takes some of the excitement away though. He wonders idly if Eugene would translate for him.

He’s spinning around the dance floor when his gaze lands on said medic, who’s leaning against the bar and watching the couples on the floor, cigarette dangling from his lips. 

“Wish you spoke English,” Babe says, speaking to the girl even though he knows she doesn’t understand a damn word. So he pulls her closer and breathes in the scent of her perfume, and tries to figure out why it isn’t as exciting to hold a girl in his arms as it used to be.

\--------------------------------------------------

“You don’t dance?” 

Gene looks up from where he’s sitting at the table in their room, his smile lazy and half in shadow from the lamp across the way. “Nah. No dancin’ for me.”

“Why not? You can’t be that bad.” Babe takes a long pull from the bottle of whiskey they bought before handing it off to Gene.

“Got two left feet.”

“So how do you pick up girls then? They all seem to like dancin’.”

Shrugging, Gene takes a drink from the bottle before setting it softly down on the table, turning it back and forth between his fingers. “I dunno. Other ways to get a girl into bed, I guess.”

Blaming it on the fact that he’s had a lot to drink, Babe stands from the bed and holds his hand out, grinning devilishly. “Care to dance?”

“You’re crazy.” Gene smiles, and he sits back in his chair. “And no.”

“Gotta learn someday. Tonight’s the night.” 

Babe grabs Gene’s hand and hauls him to his feet despite the man’s adamant refusal, holding him at arm’s length. “Now shut up and listen. Or watch. Well, both I guess.”

“Takin’ orders from a drunk man,” Gene mutters, swaying slightly until Babe’s hands tighten around his biceps. 

“Just watch and learn, Doc. Impress the dames when you get home,” Babe continues, ignoring him. “Start swayin’ to the music.”

“Ain’t no music,” Gene says, standing perfectly still.

“Use your damn imagination,” Babe replies with a huff, rolling his eyes. 

And Babe does what Babe does best – the jitterbug. It takes awhile and at least half the bottle of whiskey, but by the time the clock strikes one Babe’s got Gene doing the steps and not tripping. 

He decides to call this a win. 

“You’re pretty good at this,” Gene says, his face flushed and eyes bright. 

“Not too bad yourself, Doc.” Sweat is dripping into Babe’s eyes and he crosses the room to open a window. “Christ, it’s hot in here.”

Babe picks up the whiskey bottle and takes a long drink before wiping his mouth and passing it off to Gene. It takes a second to realize there’s music softly drifting in through their window, a slow melody Babe’s never heard before. 

“Hear that?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. 

“Yeah. Where’s it comin’ from?”

“Dunno. ‘nother room, maybe?”

They stand and listen for a moment before Gene laughs softly. “Can’t jitterbug to this, huh?”

Babe snorts and turns his back on the window to look at Gene. He has a second to think that the entire moment seems surreal – the colors, the music, the whiskey sitting comfortably in his stomach. Feels like the entire world is in this room right now and under any other circumstances he’d never do what he’s about to do. 

Blame it on the war. Or blame it on the flush that’s on Gene’s cheeks.

“Teach you how to slow dance,” he says, walking back towards Gene. “Ladies love it.”

“Slow dance, huh?” 

“Yup.” 

A gust of air flies through the window, fluttering the curtains and hitting Babe’s back with an almost audible sound. It feels great though, and Babe steps closer, grinning, and begins the lesson on slow dancing. 

“Jesus Christ, Gene,” he says a few minutes later, wincing as his toes are stepped on for the third time. “How the fuck can you jitterbug but not do this?”

“Told you. Two left feet.”

Eventually they find a rhythm and settle in. It’s kind of soothing, moving to the music and holding Gene loosely in his arms. No bombs, no guns, no shouting – no war sounds at all. 

It’s peaceful for the first time in months. 

\--------------------------------------------------

“What are you doin’?”

Babe knows what he’s doing but has no words because his lips are currently being pressed against the skin just below Gene’s ear. It tastes nice, so he does it again.

“Heffron.” The word comes out a little breathlessly and the hands that just a second ago were resting softly on Babe’s shoulders are now pressing tighter. “What are you doin’?”

Babe tightens his hold on Gene’s waist and pulls him closer. “I dunno.” 

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you.” He runs his nose down Gene’s neck and experiences a strange shift in his stomach when the man shivers. 

They’re still dancing to the faint music drifting in through the window and Babe pulls Gene closer. 

“You should stop.” 

“I should,” Babe concedes, though instead of stopping he kisses that smooth skin again. 

“Heffron.” Gene’s voice is just above a whisper, low and throaty. “This is…”

He doesn’t want to hear whatever the hell “this is” because he knows this moment is fucked up and wrong and beyond words. “Shut up, Gene,” he whispers against his throat.

“Heffron-”

“Please shut up.” Lips are moving up over a jaw line now, sliding along stubbled skin that should feel weird but doesn’t. They travel further and stop at the corner of the other man’s mouth. 

“Edward…” The voice is desperate this time, like it can’t hold back what wants to come out and Babe takes advantage of the moment and presses his lips softly against that mouth.

Eugene tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, the sweetness clashing with the smoky undertones and Babe wants more. So he opens his mouth and Gene does too and he’s kissing the medic like he used to kiss the girls back home, soft open mouthed kisses he can feel all the way down to his toes. It’s kind of beautiful, in a weird definitely-not-normal-way. 

Gene pulls back and he’s panting, his eyes wide. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“Can’t you just shut the hell up?” Babe asks, trailing kisses across Gene’s face. He’s like a mad man on a mission, though he’s not quite sure what that mission is. “Just, just … have some faith.”

Gene laughs and Babe feels the vibrations against his lips because he’s got them latched to the man’s neck. “Have some faith? We ain’t talking food here, Edward.”

“We shouldn’t be talkin’ at all.”

“If we were, tell me what you’d say.”

Babe takes a deep breath and lifts his mouth from Gene’s neck so he can look at him. “I dunno. What would you say?”

Gene stares at him, an indecipherable look in his eyes, and there’s a moment where Babe thinks Gene’s going to push him away and what would he do then?

“I’d say you’re crazy,” Gene whispers, his gaze dropping to Babe’s mouth for a second before coming back up. “Fucking crazy and … I probably wouldn’t mind if you kissed me again.”

The breath catches in Babe’s throat at that last sentence, and he swallows loudly. “I’d say I’d like to kiss you again, too.”

Gene smiles then, and that gives Babe enough courage to wrap his arms tighter around the medic’s waist and pull him in so he can kiss him.

This time the kiss doesn’t seem to end, and they’re clutching tightly to each other, no longer swaying together. Babe can’t think past the thought that it’s been so fucking long since he’s been intimate with anyone, and Gene feels incredible.

Doesn’t matter that he’s flat chested and all muscle, or that his stubble rubs against Babe’s cheeks. 

Right now? It doesn’t matter at all.

\--------------------------------------------------

“How far are we takin’ this?” Gene murmurs as he’s pushed towards the bed, Babe’s fingers digging into sharp hipbones.

“Do you ever shut up?” Babe asks. He pushes Gene gently down onto the bed and finds that he can’t look away from the man’s face. He’s not sure if he’s looking for something or if he just likes looking.

“Edward, this-”

Feeling a surge of impatience, Babe throws himself down on the bed and stares at the ceiling, feeling angry and irritated. “For God’s sake, Gene, you don’t say two words to me the whole time I’ve known you and now you want to have a fucking conversation?”

“A conversation about what the hell we’re doin’ seems like a swell idea,” Gene huffs, and lays himself down on the bed beside Babe. He’s staring up at the ceiling too, or at least it seems that way and suddenly Babe can’t stand the distance between them. So he reaches out and curls his fingers around Gene’s hands where they’re resting on his stomach.

“Why don’t we just see how far we wanna go,” Babe suggests. “We can stop whenever we want to.”

“Just a bit of fun, huh?”

Babe laughs. “We could go find that whore house if you want.”

It’s Gene’s turn to laugh and he squeezes Babe’s fingers. “I don’t think I want a whore.”

“What do you want then?”

“Honestly?” Gene turns to look at Babe and gives him that half grin. “More whiskey.”

Babe laughs and sits up to grab the bottle off the table. He takes a drink before handing it over. “Drink up, Doc.”

They sit together on the bed, backs leaning against the head board, and spend a few minutes smoking and drinking. Babe stubs his cigarette out and, as nonchalantly as he knows how, lays an arm around Gene’s shoulders who leans against Babe.

“So what do you want, Heffron?”

Instead of spouting off some nonsense answer, Babe takes a second to really think about the question, to consider what it is he wants. Their 48 hours is coming to a close and while Babe’s gotten what he originally wanted (lots of drinking), he wants more.

Turns out drinking isn’t enough.

While he’s been thinking, Babe’s been absently rubbing Gene’s shoulder with his fingers, and it’s this little thing that solidifies what he wants.

“If we’re being honest here,” he says slowly, glancing over at Gene, “I think I just, well, want you.”

He waits, anxious, for Gene to answer, feeling uncomfortable that he spoke the words aloud.

Gene takes a long pull from the bottle before setting it down on the bedside table. Babe watches, holding his breath, as Gene turns and gives him a small grin.

“Ok.”

“Ok? That’s it?” Babe asks incredulously.

“Ok.”

“You’re the crazy one, not me.”

Gene laughs softly and this time he’s the one putting his arm around a set of shoulders. “You like women, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Tits are pretty nice.”

“I ain’t got any of those.”

“I think it’d be kinda weird if you did,” Babe laughs. He leans in to rest his head on Gene’s shoulder. 

After a second, Babe lifts his head to look at Gene. “You like women?”

“Very much so. But there’s … well, somethin’ about you.”

Babe snorts. “I bet. So… have we talked enough or is there somethin’ else you might want to say before I kiss you again?”

He expects Gene to laugh or crack a joke but he’s looking at Babe with careful eyes and Babe’s insides freeze up.

“I’m not homosexual, Edward.”

Babe’s not quite sure what to say, so he blurts out the first thing he thinks of. “Me either. I’m just … attracted to you.”

Gene moves his arm from around Babe’s shoulders and crawls down the bed until he’s sitting in between Babe’s legs. “Why?”

“Are you serious?” Babe asks, eyebrows up near his hair line.

A pair of hands rest on his thighs, squeezing softly. “Yep.”

“Christ. Thanks for putting me on the spot.”

Gene laughs this time, and slides his hands an inch or so up Babe’s thighs. “I ain’t lettin’ you put your hand down my pants without knowin’ why.”

Babe snickers and places his hands on top of Gene’s. “Well, I think you’re a smartass. A quiet smartass. Would love to know what you’re thinkin’ sometimes.”

“So … you want to mess around because I’m a smartass?”

“No! I mean, yeah, but that ain’t all. I like your smile, that half-grin thing you do. It’s kinda infuriating but I like it.”

Gene slithers so close that Babe has to open his legs wider and he shudders as that pair of hands slides closer and closer to his groin.

“How about you? Why do you wanna get with me?” Babe asks, his voice coming out just above a whisper because Jesus Christ those hands.

Gene grabs ahold of Babe’s hips and jerks him down so instead of leaning against the headboard, he’s lying on his back, looking up at Gene who’s towering over him.

“I like your laugh. And the smartass remarks that come out of your mouth.” Heads are inching closer and Babe’s hips jerk upwards without him realizing it. “I like the way you make me talk, don’t let me be quiet. Makes me wish I’d talked to you before yesterday.”

Gene’s words make a bigger impact on Babe than he thought they would, and he realizes he’s got a lump in his throat that’s hard to swallow around. “Gene-”

“Shut up, Edward,” Gene says with a grin before pressing their lips together.

\--------------------------------------------------

Within a few minutes, Babe’s pretty sure he’s got Gene’s mouth memorized. And his back. And his legs and his hair.

He wants to remember it all actually. The way Gene presses the entire length of his body against Babe’s, the way his fingers pull at Babe’s hair and his lips that suck at his neck. He wants to remember what it’s like to feel Gene’s tongue exploring the inside of his mouth, and the hardness that’s pressing against Babe’s dick.

Babe’s scrambling at Gene’s shirt, trying to pull it out of the waistband of his pants because he needs to feel that smooth skin. But then his fingers find Gene’s ass and suddenly his concentration shifts, and he’s pushing his fingers against that mound and pressing his hips upwards because he’s got to be closer, he’s just got to.

“Gene, Christ,” he whispers as lips move down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. Babe’s fascination returns to Gene’s front and this time he’s rather forceful – he wants that damn shirt off.

Gene pulls back and he’s panting and flushed as he helps Babe undo the buttons on his shirt. Unbelievably he starts chuckling. 

“This is fucking nuts,” Gene says. 

“Insane,” Babe agrees as he leans up and sucks softly at the skin beneath Gene’s ear.

“I’m glad you started this.” Gene’s voice cracks and his fingers find Babe’s shirt, the buttons coming undone.

Babe finally gets Gene’s damn shirt open, his fingers finding smooth skin. “Me too. Even though you can’t seem to shut the hell up.”

“I think you like it.”

Fingers are trailing down his stomach, flirting dangerously at the waistband of his pants, and Babe can barely think. “Erm… maybe.”

Gene smirks, which makes Babe’s stomach flutter, and he leans down to press a soft kiss against Babe’s lips. 

If someone had told Babe he’d be turned on by the weight of another man’s body on his, he’d of laughed till next week. But now that he’s actually got Eugene on top of him… well, he can’t imagine anything better.

\--------------------------------------------------

“Jesus, Edward,” Gene pants, thrusting his hips harder.

Babe’s pulling at the buttons on Gene’s pants and their fingers tangle as Gene works at Babe’s fly, and suddenly it’s cock against cock and Babe’s going to die, really going to die from the pleasure. Gene’s looming above him, sweat covering his face and he’s biting his lip, moaning softly. 

“God, I want you.”

The words leaves Babe’s mouth unbidden as his hips move with Gene’s and he can’t even feel embarrassed about it because right now, embarrassment doesn’t exist. 

It’s just Babe and Gene.

Lips are moving sloppily against each other as pants are finally pulled off and now it’s an entire body of slick, smooth skin to explore. It only takes a few minutes for Babe’s hand to wander down between their bodies and take both of their cocks in one hand. 

“Edward.” The word is moaned into an ear, and calloused fingers pull at short red hair, and they both know it’s coming.

“Gene, fuck,” Babe whispers, thrusting his hips faster, “please, God, please.”

Gene can’t even speak and instead he’s groaning into Babe’s neck, moving faster. Babe pulls at their cocks, giving a twist at the end that makes his stomach fall down, down, down. With his free hand he scrapes his nails up Gene’s back as Gene bites down hard on Babe’s neck.

Bodies tremble and Gene’s making a high pitched noise, almost a sob, and it sends Babe over the cliff and down into nothing but ghostly whiteness. He’s aware he’s saying Gene’s name over and over and he opens his eyes, watching Gene’s face as he comes.

It’s kind of beautiful. 

His eyes are closed, lips red and swollen and the thing that sends a jolt through Babe is the way Gene’s mouthing his name.

_Edward, Edward, Edward._

\--------------------------------------------------

They’re sitting in the bathtub, Gene leaning back against Babe’s chest and legs tangled together. 

Dawn is creeping ever closer, just a few short hours away. 

Babe wants this night to last forever. He knows it won’t but he can’t stop thinking about it. 

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he leans down and presses his lips to Gene’s shoulder, opening his mouth to bite that pale, wet skin.

“Water’s gettin’ cold,” Gene says.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Babe chuckles and gently pushes Gene forward. “Well get the hell out then.”

Gene hands Babe a towel when they emerge from the bathtub and he can’t seem to stop smiling. Or blushing. 

Possibly both. 

“Why isn’t this awkward?” Gene asks, ruffling his hair with the towel.

“I dunno,” Babe says. “D’you want it to be awkward?”

“No, it just … feels like it should be.”

“You’re weird, y’know that right?”

“Shut up.” Gene throws his damp towel at Babe’s head and walks back into the bedroom.

The question seemed strange at the time, but now Babe’s thinking about it and he realizes how right Gene’s remark is. It should be incredibly awkward. 

Babe had the man’s _cock_ in his hand, for God’s sake.

“Come here,” Gene says, holding his hand out, interrupting the increasingly confused voice in Babe’s head.

Fingers entwine, naked bodies press together and Babe lets out a sigh.

“I don’t want this night to end,” he confesses into Gene’s hair.

“Me either. But it’s got to.”

“I know.”

Gene’s mouthing at Babe’s neck, lips and tongue making bruises on his skin. “Let’s just make the most out of the time we got left.”

“Only a few hours.”

“We can accomplish a lot in a few hours.”

“Why didn’t we start this last night?” Babe asks breathlessly, losing his mind little by little as that warm, wet mouth makes a trail down to his collarbone.

“I dunno. But I do know somethin’,” Gene whispers as he trails his hands down Babe’s back. “I know you need to shut the hell up.”

Babe laughs and pulls them both towards the bed. “My my, how the tables have turned,” he teases.

“Shut up, Edward.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Babe’s hovering over Gene, shaking as a pair of legs encircle his hips and this time it’s Gene’s hand pulling and caressing and generally driving Babe nuts. 

He’s got a hand fisted in that black hair and he pulls at it, nibbles at the soft ear lobe he finds and Gene tightens his legs. 

“Heffron,” Gene whispers, pushing at Babe’s chest so he has to sit up, his hands on either side of Gene’s head, who’s biting that bottom lip again. Something deep inside Babe shifts and he closes his eyes, cock so hard it almost hurts. 

“Open your eyes,” Gene pleads. “Look at me, Edward.”

So Babe looks, forces his eyes to stay open as Gene pulls with his fingers and he’s struck with such an unbelievable force of something like desire, but really it’s a hell of a lot more than that, and he lets himself go. 

\--------------------------------------------------

They’re waiting for a ride back to base and Babe’s lost in thought. He wants to remember every second of the past two days, even if he should really forget about it because it won’t happen again. It can’t, as much as he might want it to. 

A shoulder bumps into his and he turns to look at Gene. He’s got that smirk on his lips but this time Babe can read it, knows Gene’s thinking about the same thing he is, and Babe’s hand twitches and brushes against Gene’s fingers. 

“Think I made the right decision to follow you around Paris. Turns out you’re a pretty good tour guide,” Babe says. 

“Guess it helps I speak French, huh?”

Babe laughs. “Yeah. That and a few other things.”

A flush rises to Gene’s cheeks and he looks away as a Jeep pulls up beside them. They clamber into the back, and a familiar thigh is pressed against Babe’s and it stays that way until they get back to what for them, is the real world.

\--------------------------------------------------

It’s cold and snowy and miserable, and Babe sighs as he wraps his blanket tighter around himself, trying to get comfortable enough for a few hours of sleep. 

There’s too much to think about though, and he’s somehow thinking about it all at once. 

A hand clutching a throat, blood seeping out between splayed fingers. 

The blood that seems to stand out almost obscenely against snow covered ground. 

The sound of German voices singing across an open field. 

A pale face with dazed eyes that look right through him as if he isn’t there and it brings back memories of that night, except those eyes had been open and bright and alive.

Someone’s coming towards his fox hole but he can’t be bothered to look. Whoever it is jumps down into the hole and a flash of red catches Babe’s eyes and he watches as Roe settles in next to him. 

“Hey, Doc.” Babe’s voice is hoarse from disuse and he clears his throat.

Roe stares out at the snowy landscape for a few moments before turning to look at Babe, his face pale and cheeks red from the cold. It’s the naked expression on Roe’s face that startles Babe, and without thinking he pulls a hand out from under the blanket and grabs Roe’s arm.

“Hey… you ok?”

For the first time since they parted at the base all those weeks ago, Gene gives Babe that half-smirk, and the tense ball of anxiety Babe’s been carrying around in his stomach loosens just the tiniest bit. 

God, he’s missed that smirk. 

“I’m ok, Edward.”

Hands meet under the blanket and Babe squeezes those callused fingers, smiling with something close to relief.

It’s starts snowing again, and heads tilt in closer until they’re touching. Babe pulls in a deep breath and turns his head so he can press his lips against that familiar temple.

“Not sure how the hell you found gloves, but you should share ‘em,” Gene says.

Babe laughs. “Not a chance,” he says, lips moving against smooth skin.

“Asshole.”

“Maybe.”

“Still a smartass.”

“Always, Gene. Always.”

He can’t see him, but he knows Gene’s smiling and for a few minutes, Babe pretends they’re back in that hotel room, holding each other tightly and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, they’ll get out of this fucking place together.


End file.
